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You alone, it seems, speak truth.
Yet, 'tis you alone that-

D. Man.


For before the word were utter'd,

Or imagined, or conceived,

Would your lifeblood stain my sword!
Nay, since destiny decrees it,
Self-protection must come first:
Let the laws of friendship pardon.
If 'tis fix'd that fight we must,
Let us combat as becomes us.
Part between us both the light,
That its beams may equal be;
Close that secret door behind you,
That we may the more securely
Combat: I shall close the other;
Cast the key upon the ground,
Let him lift it that survives.

Don Luis raises the table in order to barricade the secret passage, in doing which he discovers Cosme. "This, then, is the servant for whom you were waiting!" he exclaims, with a sneer, to Don Manuel. "Believe what you please," answers Don Manuel, "the time is past for explanations." The question now is-how Cosme is

to be disposed of during the combat, so as to prevent his interfering on the side of his master; a precaution which the valet assures both parties is a very needless one. Don Manuel, however, locks him up in a kind of press within the alcove, and returns to meet his opponent.

D. Man. Now we are alone together.
D. Luis. Let our combat then commence.

[They fight.-DON LUIS loses the guard of his sword.

'D. Man. Never saw I cooler fencing!

D. Luis. Never saw I stronger force!

I am left unarm'd. My weapon

Useless is without a guard.

D. Man. 'Tis not from defect of valour;

'Tis the accident of fortune.

Go, and seek another sword.

D. Luis. You are courteous, you are valiant. (Aside.) O my fate! What course is left me, In a moment so perplexing;

Since he takes my honour from me,

Gives me life, and conquers me?
I must seek for some occasion,
Either real or apparent,

To retire till I decide

What amidst these doubts to do.

D. Man. Go you for a weapon?

D. Luis. Yes, if you will wait my coming,

I shall soon return with one.

D. Man. Soon or late, I wait you here.

D. Luis, Fare you well, then; God protect you.

[Exit by the principal door.

D. Man. Fare you well, too; God be with you, (locks the door.)

Thus I lock the door, withdrawing

Thence the key, that none discover

Any one remains within.

What confused imaginations

Combat in my thoughts, perplexing

With their changing shapes my reason!
Ah! how truly I predicted

That there was some secret entrance,
That she was Don Luis's mistress!
Every thing in fact has happen'd
Even as I at first foresaw,
Evil guesses seldom fail us.

Cosme. (from the recess.) Gentle master, I entreat you
If you are alone, for God's sake

Let me out again; I tremble

Lest the Goblin come to seek me,
With his questions and his answers,
In a doghole such as this,

Where the walls are scarce divided.
D. Man. I will open, for I feel
So bewilder'd with the conflict
Of opposing thoughts, that now
Nothing can torment me farther.

[He goes into the Alcove to let him out. The centre door opens. DON JUAN brings in ANGELA veiled.-Both remain in the back. ground.

Don Juan. Here you shall remain till I
Can investigate the reason,

Which, at such an hour, had drawn you
From your house. You shall not enter,
Thankless girl, your own apartment,
That I may without your presence
Sift the truth of this adventure.
(Aside.) I shall leave her in the apartment
Of Don Manuel. Lest he come

At the door, I'll place a servant

To instruct him not to enter.

D. Ang. (alone.) Ah! unhappy! woe is me!


upon another follow

My misfortunes. I am dying.

DON MANUEL and COSME enter from the recess without seeing Angela.

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Cos. That this woman is the devil,

And that even here she'll plague me.

D. Man. Since we know now who she is,

And one door is by the table

Barr'd, the other by the key,

How, pray, would you have her enter ?

Cos. Any way that suits her pleasure.

D. Man. You are crazy.

Cos. (turning round and seeing D. ANGELA.) Lord have mercy!

D. Man. Art thou shadow or illusion,

Woman, that dost haunt me so?

Say, how have you enter'd here?

D. Ang. Don Manuel!

D. Man.

D. Ang.


Attend and listen.

Don Luis knock'd ;-in haste

My chamber enter'd; then his steps retraced;
With foresight he reflected,

Discreetly thought, and oft the thought rejected;
The house in darkness viewing,

And then with light, he saw thee, and pursuing,

The sound of blows, not words,

Was heard, for in the place of tongues were swords.

I, who too well divined

That when two cavaliers were thus confined,

When wrath and valour prompted the dispute,

And swords were eloquent, though lips were mute;
Nothing would end their strife

Less than the death of one, the other's life,-
Without life, soul, or sense,

Amidst night's dusky stillness, fled from hence;
(Whose cold and darksome shade,

Fit image of my own dark fortunes made,)
I strove to make my way,

Here stumbling, falling there, and here astray,
While my numb'd senses found

A prison in the silk that wrapt me round.
Alone, disturb'd, dejected,

I reach'd (by my distraction ill-directed)
The sphere which proved the scene

Of my confinement, when it should have been
My refuge and my port.

But ah! what refuge need misfortune court!-
Beneath its very shade

(How fast the heavens rain ills upon our head)
Don Juan stood! my brother!

For oh! no longer need I strive to smother
That secret from your ear;

This very silence 'twas that leaves me here
In danger and dismay!

Strange that a woman e'er should have to say
Silence was her undoing;

Yet such I am, and silence proves my ruin.

Beside this door he stood

Waiting, O heaven! while I, by fear pursued,
Beneath its shadow came,

(A snow volcano or an Alp of flame ;)

He by the scanty light,

With which a gentle moonbeam cheer'd the night,
Saw the faint gleam my bosom's jewels made,
(Not I the first whom jewels have betray'd,)
Or the slight rustle of my garments caught,
(Not I the first whose ruin dress has wrought ;)
He thought his mistress came,

And like a moth he flutter'd to his flame,
There to consume. But he

Found the poor shadow of his star in me.

Who of a jealous lover could believe

That, seeking cause for such, he should perceive

Some ill so infinitely worse,

As to deem jealousy the lighter curse!

He tried to speak, the words refused to come,

For deep anxiety is ever dumb.

At last, in words of woe,

That faint and faltering from his lips did flow,

Borne swiftly from the tongue,

He did demand the reason of his wrong.

I strove to answer still,

(I've said that feeling finds not words at will,)
And still in vain. Unfit

Was terror such as mine to sharpen wit.
Of all excuses for my fault I thought;
But when the exculpation must be sought,

It comes not, or it never comes in time,
And the denial but confirms the crime.
"Come, sister," did he cry,

"First blot upon our honour'd ancestry,
"Thou shalt be left immured

"In this safe spot secluded and secured;
"I shall detect, erelong,

"The author and occasion of my wrong."
He left me here, where Heaven

The sight of thee to cheer my grief has given.
It was the love I bore thee

That made me as a phantom flit before thee:
'Twas my esteem for thee

That made my breast my passion's prison be;
She could not truly love

Whose bosom-worth, like yours, could fail to move,
Nor she respect that worth,

Who, face to face, could speak her passion forth.
It was my fate to choose thee,

My aim to win thy love, my fear to lose thee,

My effort to preserve thee,

My life to pleasure thee, my soul to serve thee;

My heart's desire to love thee,

And these the tears which now I shed, to move thee
Aid to my griefs to lend,

To shelter me, to shield me, and befriend.

D. Man. My ills are hydras, since they still contrive
Even from their lifeless ashes to revive.

What in this darkness shall I do?

My thoughts a labyrinth without a clue!
She is Don Luis's sister, whom I deem'd
His mistress. If when love in peril seem'd
His rage was thus awake,

What will it be when honour is at stake?

She is his sister. If I then endeavour

To set her free, and with my blood to save her,

Committing to my sword her exculpation,

That were an aggravation

For that were to proclaim

That I had stain'd his honour'd house with shame,

Since he must find me here:-and yet t' accuse

A loving lady in mine own excuse,

And lay the blame upon her

Of such a step, revolts against my honour.

What course then can I see?

Defending her I should a traitor be:

Heartless if I forsake her,

A faithless guest if from her home I take her;
Inhuman if I to her brother yield her,

A thankless friend if I protect and shield her;

To friendship faithless if I interfere,

To love ungrateful if I leave her here!
Then since in either way

Hard fate besets me, dying let me say,
Señora, fearless be,

I am a nobleman-rely on me.

He places Dona Angela behind him, and awaits the return of Don Luis, who enters with another weapon. He comes, however, only with the

intention of depositing his sword at Don Manuel's feet, and owning himself vanquished by his courtesy. But the sight of Angela in the apartment

revives his rage: he rejoices at having found a justification for renewing the combat, and lifting his sword from the ground again challenges Don Manuel.

An explanation now ensues; Don Manuel relates in what way Angela had entered his apartment, and arms his resolution at all hazards to protect her. "That right belongs to none," replies Don Luis, "but her brother

or her husband." Don Manuel presenting his hand to Angela, expresses his readiness to acquire a husband's right to protect her: Don Luis acquiesces: while Don Juan and Beatrice enter just in time to witness this happy solution of events which were assuming so tragical a complexion, and to congratulate Don Manuel on union with THE GOBLIN LADY.


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EVE's tinted shadows slowly fill the fane
Where Art has taken almost Nature's room,
While still two objects clear in light remain,
An alien pilgrim at an alien tomb.

A sculptured tomb of regal heads discrown'd,
Of one heart-worshipp'd, fancy-haunted name,
Once loud on earth, but now scarce else renown'd
Than as the offspring of that stranger's fame.
There lie the Stuarts! There is Walter Scott!
Strange congress of illustrious thoughts and things!
A plain old moral, still too oft forgot—
The power of genius and the fall of kings.
The curse on lawless Will high planted there,
A beacon to the world, shines not for him;
He is with those who felt their life was sere,
When the large love of loyalty grew dim.
He rests his chin upon a sturdy staff,
Historic as that sceptre, theirs no more;
His gaze is fix'd; his thirsty heart can quaff
For a short hour, the spirit-draughts of yore.
Each figure in its pictured place is seen,
Each fancied shape his actual vision fills,
From the long-pining, death-deliver'd Queen,
To the worn outlaw of the heathery hills.
O grace of life, which shame could never mar!
O dignity, that circumstance defied!
Pure is the neck that wears the deathly scar,
And sorrow has baptised the front of pride.

But purpled mantle, and blood-crimson'd shroud,
Exiles to suffer and returns to woo,

Are gone, like dreams by daylight disallow'd;
And their historian-he is sinking too!

A few more moments, and that labouring brow
Cold as those royal busts and calm will lie;
And, as on them his thoughts are resting now,
His marbled form shall meet the attentive eye.

When Sir Walter Scott was at Rome, the year of his death, the history and localities of the Stuarts seemed to absorb all other objects of his interest. The circumstance of this poem fell within the observation of the writer.

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